Outskirts Press, INC.

Enter the world of a Southern California altar boy, parochial school student, and athlete as he attempts to maneuver through the rigid and strict labyrinth of the Roman Catholic Church in the 1950s and 60s. An epic clash of the church’s traditions, piety, and self-righteousness with our antagonist’s fast-forward energy, immaturity, and humor will leave you in stitches. Big family values and hair-raising adventures are put on full display as a tough-love father and beautiful, free-spirited mother combine forces to raise their six sons and one daughter. The world is rapidly changing, society is trying to keep up, and new discoveries become a daily occurrence. It is within this web of complexity we witness how one young boy uses his sense of humor, penchant for practical jokes, rapier wit, and mischievous nature to entertain friends, classmates, and teammates. His altar boy shenanigans, classroom capers, and family hijinks will leave you laughing, crying, and shaking your head. As you see his explosion of questionable behavior erupt, you will wonder how our pint-size hero managed to steer clear of California’s penal institutions. You will find yourself rooting for his bravery and, at the same time, grimacing over his outlandish deeds. Dennis the Menace, Eddie Haskell, and George Machado would make a fine modern-day version of the Three Musketeers. However, trust me, you wouldn’t want these three characters wielding swords in your neighborhood!

THE CHRISTMAS MORNINGS of my childhood could fill a scrapbook with the magical memories they produced. We awoke to a Catholic celebration with just the right amount of yuletide chaos. Baby Jesus was safely tucked away into his ceramic manger to avoid the flying footballs, runaway trains, speeding slot cars, and Rockem-Sockem Robots that had taken over our living room. Wrapping paper, colorful ribbon, cardboard boxes, and sheets of squeaky Styrofoam formed a wasteland of refuge over every square inch of our carpet. The strands of Bubble Lights wrapped around our tree, and the first rays of dawn's sunrise served as our only illumination. But it would be all the light we would need to find our way through this wonderland. The screams of excitement, continuous laughter, and big-eyed surprises seemed like the perfect accompaniment to Alvin and the Chipmunk's rendition of Jingle Bells. Someone had rubbed a lamp, and many wishes had been granted. So this was how Christmas looked to our big Southern California family. Jesus Christ, Santa Claus, College Football, See's Candies, and my mom's cookies were the order of the day. Fruitcake, practical gifts like socks and sweaters and school supplies were piled up in a corner. We were connoisseurs of festive fun and experts at quickly locating things that pleased our playful palettes.

One of my all-time favorite gifts was a Gilbert chemistry set that came in a tri-fold metal box. The container opened with its brightly painted graphics to create a makeshift laboratory. I was only eight years old, but I felt like a combination of Louis Pasteur and Jonas Salk. It was a gift that guaranteed something big would happen, and it delivered on that promise almost immediately. Tiny bottles of compounds, chemicals, and crystals were neatly arranged inside the three metal doors and accompanied by a detailed instruction booklet.

Like any budding chemist, I started filling up an assortment of test tubes with as many ingredients as possible. In my neophyte mind, instructions were for the faint of heart and an indication of an unadventurous spirit. I was from the school of thought that accidental discoveries were the best kind. It was this laissez-faire attitude that would prove to be my ultimate downfall. I was convinced that the more ingredients I could combine, the greater the probability of creating something memorable. I can verify that the unforgettable part was achieved following another dance with my dad and The Belt.